


Whispers in a Bludhaven Motel

by shingo_the_pest



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Age Difference, Face-Fucking, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 02:01:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7462302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shingo_the_pest/pseuds/shingo_the_pest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You've done well these past few months Dick Grayson. You're very loyal, aren't you?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whispers in a Bludhaven Motel

**Author's Note:**

> Started this a while back. Decided to finish it while I struggle through the current chapter of The Nobody. 
> 
> I wavered back and forth on whether to tag this as underage or not. Dick is between 17-19, which technically falls under legal age of consent most of the North Eastern states. Still, he's pretty young.
> 
> Not that age of consent matters much in a story like this...
> 
> 2-15-18 I'm putting this (and many of my other stories) under restricted access. Because my mother apparently knows about my shingo_the_pest name. (ﾟ⊿ﾟ)

The men and women of Bludhaven rushed back to work, numb in the cold wind. Lunch hour was over. Cars honked in the stop and go traffic, soon to be late. Workers disappeared back into buildings, hopping up the concrete stairs in cold ankles and scuffed shoes. At school recess was over, and freezing teachers ushered the children back inside, shutting the doors firmly to lock in the heat. Families at home had stayed inside, not daring the cold bright air this day. And the homeless curled up in alleys that gave them some shelter from the burning wind, even though it denied them what little warmth was available from the sun.

TVs in the supermarkets, the diners, the bars, everywhere, still blared coverage of the assassination of Columbian President Rafael Maduro.

_"-failed to stop all efforts. The latest reports indicate that the blundering of junior members of the Justice League may have led to even further casualties-"_

The young man a light hoodie and sunglasses ignored, or didn’t hear, the radio at the little magazine stand on the corner. He had a smile on his face as he walked down the street. TVs in a rent-to-own shop played the same footage: explosions in Bolívar Square, the fighting, the Justice League there in full force. He whistled as he walked past them.

At an old diner he turned in, possibly lured by the smell of rubens and cheeseburgers.  
  
The waitress greeted him with a preoccupied smile. She cleaned the counters and tables of the messes from lunch. The seats were empty now except for one older gentleman, casually but well dressed, reading a newspaper in a window booth. He had come in before lunch and stayed after all the rest. He was quiet and plain spoken with a gravelly voice, but polite enough. He finished his meal some while ago but hadn’t reached for his wallet yet. The waitress could tell when people just want a quiet afternoon to themself, and she had left him with his newspaper and a pot of coffee to fill his own cup.

The young man hand settled in at the main counter. She rushed to set down the stack of dirty plates in the huge metal sink, then wiped her hands, and turned to him.

"What can I get for you, sweetie?"

"Coffee and some pie. Strawberry rhubarb?"

The man at the booth didn’t look up, but he cleared his throat and turned a page of his paper.

"Sorry kiddo, we don’t have that. We've got apple, cherry, lemon..."

"Lemon meringue?"

"You got it, kid."

She cut the pie and served him. There was a bored sigh from the cook in the kitchen, but she ignored it; she liked the slow hours. The young man happily scared down his food. Behind him, the older gentleman finally folded up his newspaper and waved at her. When she reached him, he offered a twenty.

"I'll be right back with your change-"

"No need. Keep it."

"Thank you!"

The gentleman just nodded, packed his wallet into his back pocket, tucked his newspaper under an arm, and headed on his way.

There was a good eight dollars tip when she rang up the order. The young man at the counter waved his fingers at her, looking eager. He never took his sunglasses off. But then, neither did the older gentleman. For how cold it was outside, the sky was clear and the sun was bright through the sheer wall of the diner’s windows.

"Done already?”

"And it was great! But I'm ready to go."

She got another generous tip and whistled happily as the young man rushed out the door, letting the cold wind back in.

\---

The man had slipped a quick hand into Dick's back pocket as he left the diner. Inside was a keycard for the motel a couple blocks down and a piece of paper with the number 221.

The motel rooms lined the outside of the building, with ugly green doors. Dick skulked his way up the concrete stairs, hands tucked into his pockets, head down. He avoided letting any cameras see his face, but he had a hunch that none of them were recording right now. He knocked four times on the door and waited. He was shivering from the cold, or anticipation.

From inside, the man asked. "Did you bring it?"

"There weren't any pies at the store."

The man opened the door. "Get in here."

The motel room was cozy warm, and Dick's cock was already half hard. There was wood paneling on the walls, an ugly maroon bedspread, a lime stained sink. It was old and hideous, but it was as clean as it was going to get.

Dick laid his sunglasses on the wide day dresser and looked up to the man who had let him in. "I've been waiting so long."

Slade Wilson rested a hand around his neck and squeezed. Dick let his eyes shut and leaned into it.

"This was the earliest we could dare," Slade told him. "Were you followed?"

"Batman bugged my clothes. I did a bait and switch before I left Gotham."

"They’ve been suspicious of you?"

"Yeah. Bruce especially, though they ran us all through the wringer. Ms. Lance too. I think they worry that..." Dick lost track of the next words he was going to say. He felt disoriented.

Slade leaned forward, his one eye looking closely at Dick, watching for something. Dilation? "Yes, Dick?"

"Worried, they'll. We. Um."

"Worried someone's betrayed them?"

"Yeah. Exactly." There was relief that someone else said the words, and then Dick forgot the word betrayal again completely.

"But we're completely loyal, aren't we?"

"Yes," Dick looked up at Deathstroke.

"And you've been waiting a long time for your reward, haven't you?"

"Yes!"

"Tell me, how long do you have away?"

Dick had to blink away the desire, the lust fogging his brain. "A few hours. I should be back before seven, to avoid suspicion. Bruce and Alfred have been watching me. Us."

"They've been watching the Young Justice team? Or just you, Dick Grayson?" Slade asked.

"The team. And me and Jason."

"Jason? Is that the new Robin?"

"Yes. Jason Todd. He was a street kid. He tried to steal Batman's tires and Bruce just took him in. I guess he thought Jay would be a good Robin. I’m not around that much anymore, and we’ve been fighting a lot… Maybe he needed someone to watch his back out there as Batman. He, Jason, he didn’t have any training at all, or any powers. He was way behind even Wally, back when he started."

"Interesting."

"But he’s scrappy. He’s a fighter. And he works really hard. It’s already amazing how much progress he’s made. But I worry he’s going to rush into something and-"

"Enough," Slade ordered, with a finger against Dick's lips. "I'm surprised you're just letting someone else take the role of Robin, given what you've told me. You're not replaceable, you know that Dick Grayson?"

"I'm not?" Dick breathed, leaning closer.

"No," Slade whispered into his ear, pressing him against the wall, covering Dick with his whole body. "You're not. You're special to me. No one could ever replace you."

Dick arched against him, painfully hard, teeth gritting from how hot he was. "Please. Pleaaase."

"You've done well these past few months Dick Grayson. You're very loyal, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"You do everything you're told to, don't you?"

"Yes!"

"Do you want your reward now?"

"Yes!" Dick ground against Slade's thigh, desperate, and almost angry.  
  
"Then go ahead and take it."

Dick dropped to the floor and pulled at the man's pants. He freed the erection, and got his mouth on it, sucking it down. Slade moved his hips to give Dick the room he needed. Dick went to the task greedily, so thankful to finally have his hands on the man, so relieved to finally get what he needed, what he deserved. He leaned forward on his knees, working up a good rhythm, bobbing his head up and down, sucking on it. Slade groaned; Dick's own balls tightened.

The man moved one hand from the wall to Dick's head. Running fingers through his hair, then cupping the back of his head. Dick looked up, mouth full, and met Slade's gaze, but for now the man didn’t demand anything, just let his hand sit gently on Dick's head. But Dick could feel it coming as he bobbed his head, wasn’t surprised when that grip grew tighter, when the man pushed him a little bit further down his cock. Dick let it happen, let Slade pull him further and further down, until his teeth touched the man's gray pupes, until Slade's heavy balls rested against Dick's chin, until Dick was gasping around the cock in his throat.

Slade held him there, and it burned. Dick gripped the man's thighs, not asking for anything, just enduring it because he could do this. He could prove himself, as he’d proven himself over and over and over, to Bruce, to the Justice League, to his master.

Slade pulled Dick off his cock roughly, hand tight in his hair. Dick gasped wetly, knew he only had a few moments to breath, then Slade pulled him back down, and this time it was fast. Slade fucked his mouth. Dick squeezed his eyes shut, held himself open to it, and hung onto Slade's thighs. Slade pulled Dick's head down as far as he could go, held him there, made Dick choke around his cock. Tears ran down Dick's face and he swallowed around it, anything to keep moving, to stop the stillness. Dick himself was so close, so close.

Slade fucked him fast and furious, and Dick couldn’t help it. He came, screaming around the dick in his mouth, crying from the intensity of it.

It was only a few more thrusts, and Slade pulled out. He turned Dick's face upward with a painful grip in his hair, and came all over Dick's face.

Dick collapsed to hands and knees on the carpet. Slade stepped back from the wall, to sit on the bed. He was panting when he said, "God, you're pretty like that."

Dick whined in response.

Slade picked him up, and it was almost like Bruce used to do, holding him tenderly, carrying him to the bed. Deathstroke stripped him of his clothes, starting with the shoes, down to his shirt and underwear. He cleaned Dick up with a washcloth, wiping away the mess around his stomach and the delves of his crotch, stroking his tender and sore dick. It rose to the occasion, but Slade didn’t deliver on the promise. He wiped around Dick’s balls, then behind, stroking his perineum. Dick whimpered and rolled his head, arching his neck.

Slade lifted one of Dick’s legs, stroking all the way back, rubbing the washcloth over Dick’s asshole. Dick met the man’s eyes, willing. Waiting.

Slade just smirked at him, and retreated to throw the washcloth in the sink.

The man checked on the monitors set up in the corner of the room, several that showed the outside of the motel, one that showed the inside. He looked over his shoulder to meet Dick’s eyes. Slade turned one screen towards Dick, and rewound, to show Dick and the washcloth. Then backwards again to Dick his knees, his head twisted up as his throat was fucked.

Dick’s breath quickened, his cock tightening harder until it was painful.

That smirk didn’t leave Slade’s lips. He checked his phone, thumbing through several alerts, looked out the windows, and finally came back to Dick. Dick had rolled over weakly to watch him.

“Heh. You’re too cute, you know that?”

Dick smiled. “I’m only the best. And you like that.”

Slade smiled back. “Yeah. I do. Wish I’d got my hands on you sooner.”

“You got lube on the nightstand,” Dick pointed out, not impatient, not yet, but wanting and waiting.

“Not yet.” Slade reached under the bed, and pulled out a small handheld box. “Do you remember this Nightwing?”

Dick shivered. “Yes.”

“You like it when we go through this, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Slade pet him, caressing the hair out of Dick’s eyes. “Let’s go through a few questions then.”

Dick nodded, bangs falling back in front of his eyes.

Slade pressed a button, and a slow tone hummed out of the box. Dick’s eyes went hazy. The questions begin.

“Dick Grayson, when was your last order given?

“August. I was told to run interference against the Justice League during the mission in Columbia.”

“And you performed beautifully.”

Dick shivered.

“Has your sleeper status been discovered?” Slade’s voice was back to orders.

“No, but the Justice League and my team suspected something went wrong in Columbia. Both Martians have scanned me, but I’m never aware of my status outside of contact with you.”

“Good. What are the latest codes for access to the League?”

Dick gave them to him, both the individual ones assigned to Robin, and the ones that Bruce used at the Batcave. And Superboy’s and Artemis’s, as Robin had been able to catch, watch, and memorize both sets.

“Good. I want Aquaman and Green Arrows’ access codes, understand?”

Dick’s chin dipped, no longer looking Slade in the eyes. “That…could be difficult.”

“I know. But you’ll get them.”

“I’ll work on that.”

“You deliver both of them, and I’ll have a special reward for you, understand?”

Dick swallowed, his lips opening hungrily. “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.” Slade stroked his hair. He was leaning in again, getting close, rolling Dick onto his back, pressing the fronts of their bodies together. He completely covered Dick like this, his weight pressing down heavy over him, dominating him in body and mind. “I have more, including a new mission for you.” He stroked his finger down Dick’s nose, looking from Dick’s eyes to his bruised lips. “But one more question. Who do you obey?”

“You,” Dick whispered.

_End_


End file.
